


It's Never Too Late (To Try)

by orphan_account



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Drug Addiction, Family Feels, Loss of Trust, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "She's on drugs, Red."I've always wondered how Red reacted after that scene was over, so here's my slightly non-canon compliant interpretation of that.





	It's Never Too Late (To Try)

**Author's Note:**

> dushka - sweet, sincere girl, sweetie
> 
> derr’mo - shit
> 
> Because I'm learning Russian and this seemed like the perfect fic to use it in.
> 
> My first piece in this fandom. Let me know what you think - I've always loved the dynamic between these two. I hope I've captured it well here.

“She’s on drugs, Red.”

 

It’s like something inside me snaps when the words reach my ears. I’ve had my suspicions, but hearing it so plainly stated is another matter entirely.

 

_ She’s on drugs, Red. _

 

“Oh, God,” Nicky says in response, rolling her eyes as if this is all some kind of game. Still, I only stare. No reaction. It’s like I just… shut off. I’ve been hurt enough times in my life to not let it show in front of anyone. But, to some, silence is the biggest giveaway of all.

 

“Just take a look at her. She's smacked out of her gourd. What, are we all gonna pretend this isn't happening?”

 

But I have to, Lorna, or I’ll do something I can never take back.

 

The tears are coming, whether I want them to or not, so I head for the kitchen without looking back. 

 

_ She’s on drugs, Red. _

 

I’ve tried, Lord knows how I’ve tried, to keep that damn girl clean. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want it, can you?

 

My makeup is going to look like shit. I couldn’t care less.

 

I’m not the type to punch walls when things get bad, like some, but I feel like I have to be doing  _ something  _ that doesn’t involve slop, so I fish a spare potato out from the back and start chopping it into tiny pieces, muttering Russian obscenities under my breath as my vision begins to blur. 

 

“Red, hey, Red, what the hell are you doing, huh?” 

 

It’s Mendoza. Just what I don’t need right now. 

 

“Hey, you’ve gotta stop it okay? You ain’t gonna do nothing for her like that.” 

 

I slow my movements as I realize she’s right, and in doing so I come to notice that I’ve cut myself in several places.

 

“ _ Derr’mo. _ ” 

 

“Here, I’ll go get you some kind of bandage alright?” 

 

I nod without speaking, and she goes. As soon as I’m sure I have the room to myself again, I put my face in my hands and start to mumble, not because it will fix anything but because it might make me feel a bit better.

 

“Why, Nicky? Why do you do this to yourself? To  _ me _ ? It hurts me so much to see you like this, you have to know that…” 

 

My closest daughter is in trouble and I can’t do a thing about it.

 

That wall punching is starting to sound more and more rational.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Gimme your hand, huh?” 

 

Mechanically, I do as she says, and she starts to wrap it in bandage.

 

“Where’d you get that,” I ask, my voice coming out like sandpaper.

 

“In the back.”

 

“Bullshit, Mendoza.” 

 

“Okay, okay, you caught me, I got it from commissary.” I frown at her.

 

“You really didn’t have to do that.”

 

“Shut up and let me fix you, even you need this kind of shit once in awhile.”

 

And it’s nice, for once, to know I have a friend in this world, even if tomorrow we’ll go back to acting as if we hate each other.

 

“I owe you.”

 

“Yeah you fucking do! But all I want is for you to go talk some sense into that girl of yours. That’s payment enough.”

 

“You’re something else, you know that?”

 

I’m feeling much better, both physically and mentally. I really do owe her, but it doesn’t matter right now. She’s looking out for me. I haven’t had someone do that in  _ years. _

 

“Okay,” I say finally, “I’m going to give her hell.”

 

“That’s more like it.” We share a small smile and she goes, God knows where. I sit down for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of emotions I’ve just been subject to in the last ten minutes, and I suddenly know exactly how to deal with my most headstrong daughter. 

 

~*~*~

 

Watching Red leave is like a punch to the gut. I know she’s disappointed in me. It matters more to me than my real mother’s opinion ever did.

 

But that’s just the problem. Red  _ is  _ my real mom. That other lady acted like a foster parent. Red acts like she  _ loves  _ me. 

 

Not that she could - I’ve been told I’m impossible to love. I’m difficult, annoying, stubborn as hell, and addicted to at least three different kinds of drugs. Yup, that just about sums me up, and it would be exactly why I’m stuck in this shithole.

 

And now, I’m in the process of pushing away the only person that ever pretended to care about me.

 

Just fucking swell.

 

Morello -or whatever the  _ fuck  _ her name is now, I’m still in denial about that- is looking at me like I’m some kind of animal in a cage at the zoo, except the retarded ones who everyone wishes they could poke into doing something right.

 

Damn, I could use a smoke right about now.

 

Now that I think about it, I have a few. But just as I’m getting up to find somewhere private, Red comes back in the room, and she looks like she’s gonna murder someone. And then she comes to our table, and I realize that someone is me.

 

_ Shit. _

 

She grabs hold of my arm and drags me out of the cafeteria, through the halls, and into her office. The entire time, neither one of us speaks, and nobody interferes. Deep down, I guess I know I deserve whatever the fuck she wants to do to me. And then, she starts talking.

 

“You know, I could forgive you the rest of it. Getting sent to Max, the shit with the guards, all of it. I could let that go. But you  _ know,  _ Nicky, that I have one rule.” Her hands grip my shoulders and I can see tears in her eyes.

 

No, Ma, anything but that. Don’t cry. Please…

 

“ _ One rule,  _ Nicky! And you…” She pauses, draws in a shaky breath. Looks me straight in the eyes so I can see all the pain in hers.

 

“You went and broke it. You broke my trust  _ again,  _ my sweet girl, and it hurts me more than you can possibly understand.” 

 

“I love you,” she says, and her voice holds so much desperation and sadness that I just can’t deal with it and I’m sobbing into her shoulder.

 

“Ma, I’m so sorry, so sorry… I tried… three years...”

 

And despite everything, she’s wrapping her arms around me, comforting me, even though I sure as hell don’t deserve that. So I carefully push away and face her with all the courage I can find, wiping the tears away.

 

“I went clean for  _ three years.  _ But Max… it breaks people, Ma. I really did try, I tried for you. But every day you seemed farther away, and one of the guards was selling and…” I take a deep breath. “But none of that matters, because it doesn’t justify what I did to you. I’m the first to admit I can’t do this by myself, but I’ll do my best, okay?”

 

“You never need to do it alone, you have to know that.”

 

And though I’d forgotten, I’m remembering now, and with that knowledge comes an overwhelming sense of safety and love that I’d buried deep during my whole time in Max.

 

“I love you, Ma,” I say, my voice shaking.

 

“Oh, honey. I know.” 

 

She reaches for me again, but I hold up a hand. The other reaches into the front pocket of my shirt and brings out six smokes and a lighter. I hold them out to her. 

 

With a watery smile, she takes them all. I move on to the bottom pockets, out of which I pull out a couple packets of powder. I hand them over, too. 

 

“I think that’s it.”   
  
“If you find any more, promise me you’ll bring it straight here.” Her voice turns stern, and I nod. “You know this won’t be easy,” she says, “But we’ll get you there.”

 

“I know. If anyone can do it, Ma, you can.” But one more thing remains in the back of my mind, and I have to ask: “Do you forgive me?”

 

It takes her a minute to formulate a response.   
  


“Yes. I do. If you had only apologized, and left it there, I wouldn’t have, because I can’t do fuck-all with an apology. But you took that first step, you  _ did  _ something about it, and because you’re willing to turn it around I can easily forgive you for the original lapse in judgement. And,” she adds as an afterthought, “It helps that I love you.”

 

“You’re the best mom I ever had, you know that right?”

 

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that,  _ dushka _ .”

 

It’s her Russian endearments that always get to me. I know I’m going to be feeling like hell in a few hours, but right now I’m floating. I feel better than I have in months. I have my mom back.


End file.
